


Here's To Our Maybes

by wordswithinmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Divorce, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, One-Sided Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithinmoments/pseuds/wordswithinmoments
Summary: Marriage with Wakatoshi was easy at first, until, eventually, it wasn't. A realization that love can be found from the fruit of heartache.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi & Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 199





	Here's To Our Maybes

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my late mom, who I love more than the heavens. Hopefully you read this on the other side. <3

You liked to take pride in the fact that most people noticed you took after your mother in many ways. After all, she was the woman who despite lived in a dying body, still had the heart to look at the world with the kindest eyes. Throughout your childhood, you watched her love bloom and nurture the hurt around her. Her hands healing, eyes loving, and heart always— _always_ loving far too much for her withering body to take. And so early on in life, _too early_ , you watch the same woman that you held above the universe quietly pass, an honest _“I love you”_ spoken one last time for a man whose love never measured to a third of what she felt.

Her lips tilted to what looked like a ghost of a smile so you told yourself that you should be at peace with that. But only a year passed before you saw your father hold his new family within his arms, his lips singing praises of so much love and warmth that you couldn’t help but to feel your heart break for the woman who loved him more than herself.

That day you cry in your room, angry at the world, angry at your father, and anger at the fact that _she deserved so much more._ You remember her words, the ones that told you to “ _love someone who looks at you like they love you more than you love them”_ , her kind eyes, and feel your heart ache even more.

-

The second Ushijima Wakatoshi arrived in your life, the connection with him felt instant. Kageyama, a childhood friend of yours had been telling you about meeting his team because he thinks you would _just love them_. And true to his words, you did. Less than six months after meeting Wakatoshi, the two of you had already blended your life with the individual rhythm you two held.

Meeting him felt natural, but you learned that loving him felt like coming home. He spoke to you like he would whispering a secret in your ear; _gently._ He loved you in a way that had you feeling like you were caught in a never ending high. And his _eyes_. Every day that you were with him, he looked at you in a way that never failed to assure you that his love was absolute.

And he proved his love to you every day.

In the evenings he’d come home late from practice, where you’d sit with him across the dining table watching him eat the reheated dinner you had cooked for the both of you hours ago, he’d let his gratitude be known to you by taking your hands in his and kissing your knuckles. The kitchen would be quiet save for the sounds of Wakatoshi’s chewing and utensils clinking against the plate. You’d be wearing his old volleyball jacket from his university days and in between chewing he’d look at you and comment on how it practically looked like you were wearing a blanket instead of a jacket. You figured you loved the small talk the both of you would stumble on within your day; being an adult and having your own different schedules to finish often meant that you both would just meet when the day ended.

But you took pride in the fact that the two of you found a way to make it work. Wakatoshi was a quiet man, sometimes didn’t understand the jokes you’d pull, or particularly prefer the movies you’d have on during date nights, but his complaints were absent. He’d mumble out that he liked seeing you happy more than caring about the movie, so that comment always had you blushing more than usual.

Wakatoshi spoke to you with the simplest words that seemingly sounded beautiful (from him, ofcourse). You had learned that after waking up next to him for the first time. 6ams in the winter meant that the sun just peaked over the horizon. So the first thing that greeted you in that soft winter morning light was Wakatoshi’s sleeping face inches from your own. You thought he looked beautiful as your hands trailed up and traced along the features of his face; thumbs brushing over his cheeks and the edges of his lips. Winters in Tokyo often felt too cold for you on a normal day, but that morning felt different. And that difference was personified in the way Wakatoshi’s arms somehow brought you closer to his figure, one hand under your pillow and the other resting on your hips. His smile was as soft as the way he spoke his “ _Good morning”,_ and _“I love you”_ , and up until now, you can never truly forget or taint the memory of how that warmth flooded you.

So as he opened his eyes and looked into yours, you remembered the words your mom always told you and searched for the answer in his. And the answer came to you as your breath hitched in your throat because within the olive pools of his eyes you saw how the love he held for you igniting, flickering, and _flourishing_. You could feel the apples of your cheeks strain from the stretch of your smile as you felt the echoes of how hard your heart began to beat.

And in that same winter morning, the way he held you flush against him and whispered his _I love yous_ over and over again—made the cold feel a little warmer. 

-

On the third year of being together, he asked you to marry him on a spring afternoon, so you said yes and felt the telltale signs of tears prickling in the corners of your eyes as he slipped the ring on your finger and looked at you beaming. At first you thought that Wakatoshi looked beautiful under the golden hues of a setting sun, but really, he looked beautiful because the love lit in his eyes looked and felt like the licks of fire on a cold night.

So a year later, the day before you walked down the aisle, you visited your mother’s grave and spoke of the man who looked at you like you held worlds on your palms. Wakatoshi stood beside you, in his hands a bouquet of yellow flowers, and you smiled because a week ago he looked at a photo of a smiling woman sitting by a garden of yellow and asked if it was because they were her favorite.

“We’re doing well.” You say and stare at her name painted gold on her tombstone. Wakatoshi doesn’t let the silence stretch because he stands straight and bows deep next to you.

“Thank you for raising her well. I’ll take care of her from now on.”

And he said the same words the next day as you stood with him under the branches of sakura trees midafternoon. Somewhere in the crowd you could see Kageyama smirk as if to tell you that he planned for the two of you to get married from the start, so you smile. Wakatoshi finishes his vows squeezing your hands in his and you meet his gaze—the presence of his love that lit in his mirroring the love raging, _roaring_ , in yours.

-

Now that you think back to it, you weren’t sure where things began to shift. The nights where your husband wouldn’t come home until _much_ later that night, you sat in the living room and let your thoughts drift. Being married to him for the past two years have nothing been in short of a blessing.

You still woke up next to him with his hands cradling your face, and he still looked at you in that soft way that never failed to get your heart going, but you felt a little stuck.

“Toshi, have I been too greedy? Am I too much?” You once asked him.

He clicked the TV off and faced you, brows slightly raised in question. “What are you talking about?”

“I feel like I’m being too much.” You reply.

His brows furrow and so he does what he does best and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and replying with, “Every day you always make me feel full.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear before letting you lean on him. “I love you because you overwhelm me with all that you are, (y/n).”

He meets your eyes and you search for the telltale lick of fire in his orbs. And you see it just barely _flickering_ ; you tell yourself it could have been false because your eyes were teary then, but the way your heart roared always left you feeling a bit unsettled. You think back to your mother’s words and try to convince yourself that this may have just been a slight hiccup in the road.

There’s no perfect marriage after all, right?

-

A month after that incident, you sit in your office during your break and pass the time by watching an interview your husband had the week before. Sitting back, you smile as his face appears on the screen after the commercial Kageyama starred in.

He answers the general questions of “How does it feel to finally win against your rival team?” and “What are your goals for next season?” with practiced ease, a trait of his that never ceased to leave you impressed. He had always been crafty with words and had a way of leaving the normally nosy reporters satisfied with his general answers. 

Though this reporter may have been a different case because she suddenly blurts out, “So! How are you and your wife doing?”

The question seemed to have caught him off guard, but he recovers quickly and answers, “We’re doing great. Celebrating our third wedding anniversary together tonight.”

“Congratulations!” She expresses, then continues, “Three years! Are you planning on any kids?”

Unconsciously, you find yourself sitting up and listening intently for what his reply would be. The topic with children have been broached a few times over the years, but he was quick to dismiss it and steer the conversation elsewhere.

On the screen, you could see Wakatoshi pause before answering, “We’re still a bit young and busy. But maybe soon, when we’re _both_ ready.”

The reporter nods at his answer and tells him a final _goodluck_ before moving on to interview Kageyama. Wakatoshi stands beside him and looks at the camera, smiling with practiced ease. But you know better, because your heart clenched at the absence of the flickering flame that used to find home in his eyes.

And because Wakatoshi has a way with his words and actions, you shake your head and think that _maybe it’s just the camera and weird angles,_ so you huff out a breath you had been holding, text your husband an ‘ _I love you! Can’t wait to celebrate tonight.’_ and continue your day.

By the time midnight rolls around, the atmosphere was calm. After coming home from dinner, Wakatoshi suggests the two of you watch a movie, so you reply by pulling out the biggest blanket you could find in your shared linen closet. For the next few hours the atmosphere stays nice and calm as you are leaning against Wakatoshi’s frame with his hands mindlessly stroking your hair from time to time. In between lull moments of the movie (that he picked out this time), you look up and revel in the few moments you get to just look at your husband. At what you assumed was a funny scene, you’d see his eyes crinkle in the way it does when he got particularly happy, and he’d smile before letting out a laugh.

And as he lets out another hearty laugh with his eyes crinkling even further you feel the love inside you ignite even brighter; if you closed your eyes you could just picture it pulsing inside of you.

At this point, he probably felt your stare getting a little intense because he looked down at you, still smiling and kissed the tip of your nose.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah. I like looking at you happy.” Came your reply.

So his smile softens as he brings your forehead to his lips. “I love you, Toshi. Happy anniversary to us.” You say and look at him with the love you have inside you—beaming, burning, raging.

But as he stares back at you looking like his love is just _flickering_ , for now you just swallow the lump in your throat and find comfort in the fact that _at least_ something is flickering.

Love can’t be perfect all the time, right?

-

It was around three am, and _knowing_ that Wakatoshi was still awake did you choose to finally break the silence.

“What do you think about having kids, Toshi?” You suppose it was a good idea on your part to ask that question now, because you couldn’t imagine what kind of expression was on your face at the moment.

“I think it’s good to have them,” Came his reply after a significantly long pause; though before you could reply he continued, “Just don’t think it’s a good idea any time soon.”

“Why not?” You reply, voice a little more hushed.

“There’s still a chance an international team could scout me and if we have kids now, it would throw off our plans.”

You shifted in bed and faced him in the dark. “Toshi, you know I can’t just leave the country like that right? You know how much I love my job and life here. With you.”

His reply came out in the steady tone you were familiar with. “You always supported me, though.”

Your brows furrowed and you were quick to answer. “I _do_ , Toshi. But when the time comes, we need to make those decisions together.”

Shuffling closer to his form, you blindly feel for his face in the dark and press your lips against his.

“I love you.” You tell him

He hums into the kiss and pulls you closer to him as a reply. It was after his breaths were even and you were sure he was asleep that you buried your face deeper in his chest and thought about how much of a good thing it was to have talked to him in the dark where you couldn’t see the fading flicker in his eyes.

Deep known you knew something was shifting, and your mother’s words couldn’t be helped but flash behind your eyes—so you resort to shutting your eyes even tighter and repeating the assurance that _everything would be okay_ over and over again until you eventually succumbed to sleep.

For the next few months, things for you (at least you liked to think), felt slightly off. Wakatoshi hadn’t mentioned the conversation again and resumed to shifting his focus to addressing the mundane things that for those short moments, it felt like everything was fine.

But it took some time to admit that things _haven’t._ Because not once has he looked straight at you in the nights you were intimate. You started waking up a little earlier than him and spent those extra minutes tracing the contours of his face, but you _knew_ the moment he was awake because he’d always shift his body, turning away from you. And you _knew_ he was aware that you must have gotten the hint because you turn your back too.

And you were glad you couldn’t see his eyes when he kissed your shoulder to what you think is a silent apology because at this point, you didn’t want to know if that flicker had completely dwindled into nothing. So you shut your eyes and try to fall back asleep; ignoring the roaring of your love fighting to be released inside you.

-

Early in your marriage, Wakatoshi and you indulged in the habit of dancing to the music that permeated the walls of your flat coming from the elderly couple living in the building next to yours. Neither of you were dancers but a simple sway to the beat and your head on his chest sufficed. Wakatoshi often mused at the thought of the couple dancing simultaneously with the two of you in their own quiet space. You liked to think the same too.

And that night, where the two of you sat in the kitchen table with the familiar music floating in from the open window to your left, you feel that flicker of hope tingling on the palms of your hand. Earlier that day, after your routine checkup, you came home cheeks flushed, and heart _happy_ at the news that in you grew a little life from the love you and your husband shared.

On the train ride home you couldn’t help but to clutch at the ultrasound picture and feel the pricks in your eyes because _this could finally fix things_.

You sit across Wakatoshi, one hand subconsciously touching your stomach and the other fiddling against the edge of the envelope.

Wakatoshi takes his seat across from you and clears his throat before looking at you. “I need to talk to you about something.”

You smile at him. “I do too!”

The slight wince from you tone breezes right past you because you look down and begin pulling out the photo of the ultrasound to show him; then he suddenly speaks,

“I think we should get a divorce.”

Your eyes snap at him and you push the envelope back down your legs. “What?”

Wakatoshi doesn’t raise his head to meet your gaze so you repeat your question, albeit a little louder. “Toshi, what?”

He sighs and looks at anywhere but you. “We’re not happy, (y/n).”

Your hands grip the edge of the photo a little tighter, but you still keep it down. “Did something happen?”

He still doesn’t look at you. “I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“So you decide that a divorce is our only option? Because you feel _overwhelmed_?”

He grimaces at your tone and faces you, though you could tell he was focusing his gaze on the wall behind you. “This doesn’t feel the _same_ anymore, and you don’t deserve that.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach so you first let the silence settle before you grab his hands and place the photograph in front of him. “I’m pregnant, Tosh.”

He stays silent enough for you to take note that your neighbors play another slow song, so that floats through the open window again.

Gingerly, you take a breath, “We can get through this.”

“I got an offer to play for a team in the States, and I don’t want to take you away from your home.”

“You’ve always been my home, Toshi.”

He stays quiet, so you sigh and then speak, “Don’t you love me enough to fight for this?”

He finally looks at you and you suddenly want to sob. Like before, he takes your hands in his and kisses your knuckles gently. The music still plays and you think back to just a few years ago on a night similar to this the two of you had been swaying to what possibly may have been the same song playing now.

But as he looks straight at you and says, “ _I’m sorry_.” you knew his decision was absolute because in his eyes all you saw were cinders from a dying flame.

-

So now at thirty years old, seventeen years after she left, you visit your mother’s grave and offer a silent prayer. With you, you bring a bouquet of yellow flowers, her favorite, and a story to tell. Your son, age four, stands next to you holding your right hand. You let go as you kneel down and offer a silent prayer. From the corner of your eye, you see your son do the same, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as he muttered his own prayers to the woman he grew up hearing stories about.

You sit in front of the grave and begin to tell her that after you gave birth and after the divorced was finalized, Wakatoshi left for the states. Your son perks at the mention of his father and animatedly begins talking about how his dad bought him so much toys that they didn’t have in Japan from his recent visit. You smile as you listen because you were happy that Wakatoshi still found the time to be involved in his only son’s life.

He was right; at that time the both of you couldn’t meet in the middle and find a common ground with the splitting direction your lives were taking.

“Maybe there’s a story for us in time.” He’d told you as he first held your son in his arms. And you nodded, answering with a “Maybe.” Because for now, the future really is just a _maybe._

Thinking back to the years you were married, he was someone you couldn’t bear to regret. And looking at your mother’s tombstone you suddenly remember her smile and final words to your father. Like her, you found yourself falling in love with a man who couldn’t return that same love in the end—and along with its end, it was _okay._ Because she, _and you_ , had given it your all.

For a snippet in time, he had loved you in his own way and looked at you with a fire rivaling your own.

And you truly couldn’t bear to regret him because in the end, he had given you your son. The little boy who woke up _extra early_ in the mornings so he could sneak in your bed and cuddle you before he knew he had to get ready for school. The little boy who drew smiley faces with ketchup on your omelet because _“Mama, you need to smile more”._

_He has Wakatoshi’s eyes_ , you think to yourself as he looks at you, eyes crinkling from the width of his smile.

He plucks a yellow flower from the bouquet and shuffles closer to you. “Mama, how much did you love your mama?”

You take the flower from his hands and tuck it behind his ear. “A lot.”

He nods and stretches his arms. “This much?”

You peck his forehead and laugh before mirroring his stance, though stretching your arms a little wider. “Nope. _Thiiiiiis_ much!”

He pouts before standing up and walking closer to you, the flower still tucked in his ear (you couldn’t help but laugh because he looked just like his father), “Well, Mama, I love you, “ he pauses to stretch his arms as wide as he could go, “ _Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much!!”_

And just like that you look at his eyes, the familiar pools of olive, gleaming at you kindling a fire that burned _so beautifully_ that you can’t help but choke up because you remember the words your mother told you all those years ago.

In your son’s eyes you see her meaning, because for the first time you _understand_ what she finally meant and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> all my love for those whose heart is hurting from the end of what you thought was your eternity.


End file.
